Saturday night – Christmas Eve, of course
I’m playing Father Christmas tonight – Mum said she didn’t want to stay up late and Becca and Matty said that unless their stockings were brought in the depths of the night, they would be awake and that would spoil it all. So I said I would do it. I have set my alarm for half-past-two.
Yes I am home. I sat on the slow, cold empty little train from Edenbridge to Petersfield and stood there waiting for a very long quarter of an hour until Mum appeared walking up Lavant Street. Karen was in Petersfield too, she said. We met her a little later and went home.
With Karen as well, there was plenty for me to say. I calmed down to a normal level at about half way through the morning. Karen went home this evening. Miss Davison came to supper from next door and we spent a pleasant evening; she and Becca and me and Dad and Mum.
I decided that as I was going to play Father Christmas I would open my own stocking now. I did it while sitting in the bath.
Monday night
A nice Christmas although a not particularly emotional one. But it has been lovely being at home. I am becoming so much better at musing myself during my spare time; working at the Gemmells has made me less of a time-waster; I get on with things, be they chores or occupations of leisure.
I have been walking and riding. There is a new pony here, lent to Becca for her to ride while Magic is out of action. He is a dappled grey New Forester called Teddy; unschooled and a bit wayward but basically good-natured and quite teachable. We rode him together in the field on Christmas Day, and today I took him out for a hack.
I went for a late night walk, alone, on Christmas Day. Keeping to the fields I walked about ¾ of a mile to where the view is most spectacular, at this time of night one could only see shadows in the moonlight and the twinklings of habitation way down below; but there was the sense of space and of being above it all, more especially because one thought of all other mortals as being inside their houses, within the light, and only me standing out here in the dark expanse. I felt exhilaratingly isolated.
The Griffins, all of them, arrived at 6 on Christmas Day and after general greetings we sat down to open the presents. It was all done in under half an hour; Christmas dinner followed. I like the Griffins. Anyone else sharing in our Christmas celebrations would marr them for me.
Tuesday evening, back at the Gemmells’
Oh my goodness, I really feel that I have felt the worst of Life today; but you know, what’s bad in life is only really a question of how you take it. This morning I took it badly. Now, consciously hardened, I am barely affected at all as Fate strikes another blow.
Well, I’ve been sacked, to put it really bluntly, but in fact I don’t think the Gemmells themselves would phrase it like that. That, on paper, is by far the worst of today’s happenings, but it’s the one which affected me the least. At least on the moment of delivery. Maybe it’s because I strongly didn’t want to come back anyway. I’m going home again tomorrow.
This morning, Anne, Francis, Mum and me went for a walk down to the Musgroves. The walk was all right; I really like Anne’s talkative company but once in the Musgrove household I burst into tears. No particular reason; only the introspective self-pity with which I am often struck in their presence. I certainly wasn’t in a fit state to enjoy social discourse, or even to make any.
However the hour passed quickly enough although I was profoundly embarrassed by myself. Oh dear. I refuse to be so weak as to be utterly depressed by the thought but I wonder, will I ever be polite and reliable ‘in society’? I shall probably go to a party on Thursday . . . will I make a fool of myself there too?
Well, I was depressed myself then and pretty weepy over lunch at home, particularly with the thought of returning here. Once the journey was underway I got a grip on myself, particularly when at Guildford I found I had leaped onto the wrong train – principally because I had to.
I did it so well that I braved without flinching nearly two hours in the rain in almost deserted Edenbridge, which I had to spend as a result of my careless mistake. I could not find a taxi and Mr Gemmell could not come to collect me at once. I sat on my suitcase in a phone-box, reading a Hemingway and eating a Chinese meal I’d bought at a takeaway.
Mr Gemmell broke his and his wife’s decision to me when he did finally arrive. He didn’t put it like I did above at all; in fact he disguised it so well that I didn’t realize the basic situation until later – actually I’m still not sure why. All he said then was that he and his wife had decided that I should depart tomorrow, but he strongly implied and induced me to believe that it was nothing to do with me personally. Actually when I think about it the reason he gave was pretty vague – that they really wanted someone indefinitely, for later, and that if I wanted to go home fairly soon anyway and was dashing off to Germany there was really no point in me staying now.
Well – Mrs Gemmell has not mentioned anything about it to me yet. Andrew, who gave me the best welcome, let drop that his mother had told me to do Aunt Polly’s room and I hadn’t, and that was something to do with me leaving. Well, I can’t remember any such instruction but that I know full well does not imply that I could not have received one. I probably did.
And in any case I cannot deny any charges of inexpert housekeeping. And if what Mrs Gemmell wants is for me to entirely take over upkeep of the house while she goes off to think about or work on something else then I am far from ideal for her. But still if that is what she wanted she should have let me know it and I might have worked more independently. I always understood myself to be a junior-assistant type help; not to undertake things without being told and to check that everything was being done right to her standards.
Yes but there’s still no denying that I know little of housework and my natural standards are probably a good deal lower than hers. And I am forgetful – if she tells me to do a string of things fleetingly over coffee or while playing cards with Andrew, and then vanishes from the house the chances are that I will forget something.
But I still don’t know exactly the reasons for my dismissal – maybe more light will be thrown tomorrow. I’m not sad to be going home, but I would like to know. I want to know what to watch for another time. Oh, I guess it’s just a question of domestic inexperience – and that’s not so bad!
Dear Diary 